The Diary of Eowyn
by kyesophina
Summary: Not a diary literally but a closer look at her character and her story. fairly short...


  
  
  
  


**The Diary of Eowyn**  
  


  
  
***this is isn't literally in the form of a diary, but it is a diary in the sense that I tried to take a closer look at Eowyn's character, and the story from her point of view. Fan-fiction that I see tends to paint her as a rebellious tomboy, but after much thought over Gandalf's words concerning her, I saw it differently… or rather, more complexly. I saw good old-fashioned feminine longing behind her shell of bravery.   
  
It's mostly just a thoughtful piece, I'm not even sure if I'm completely happy with it, so if you got any concerns or suggestions I'm ready.   
  
  
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She had been happy for most of her life. Then suddenly she was miserable; loathing to be in her own country that she had always loved, ashamed even by its name that she had been so proud of. Now here she stood, though impressed by the White City, still not caring to be anywhere but fallen beside her uncle upon the battlefield. But merely being in the august and noble presence of the young steward had filled her with doubt. She suddenly wondered the credibility of her excuse; that were she a man she would've been invited to join the battle, realizing any king would likely leave one child, man or woman, behind to govern the people. She began to wonder just how long she'd been so unhappy.   
  
It couldn't have been more than a few years ago. Though, her bitterness began to truly strengthen but a few months ago. All her life she admired her brother and looked up to him. Only recently it was that she began to envy him. And all her life she was content with her station as one of the Royal House. But not long ago she felt herself looking down on the women of Rohan who respected their duties without question, though they were just as strong and proud, war-trained and willful as she was. When had she turned into such a brat? What had happened to her?   
  
Grima. In the beginning she had no ill will toward him; no one did. It began with harmless flattery. He would catch her at saber practice and observe what a magnificent soldier she would make. When she would exercise praise or judgment over servants and subjects he would remark her a leader among leaders. Soon her imagination was fed with fancies of governing the people herself, and dreams of leading soldiers into battle.   
  
As time passed she grew more disdainful of the king's counselor, but his smooth words still snuck their way into her unconscious thought, and ate away at her certainty and her comfort, and filled her with discontent and envy. Her mind began its turn toward the worst when the emissary of Gondor, Lord Boromir, son of the Steward, had arrived late last summer.   
  
She spied him coming on horseback over the rolling fields. Before anyone knew who it was that approached all could tell that here was a valiant warrior, unmatched in Gondor, with the blood of high and noble lords and captains flowing through his veins. Her brother and cousin Theodred were very excited, and delighted greatly in his company. She found herself of a like mind. Though careful not to impose herself at the supper table as she stood in waiting, she listened intently to the stout soldier's dark stories of the war, and she wished more than anything to sit among them and join their talks of glory in battle. "Rohan will ride to your aid ere long," said Eomer, as Theodred added, "I would indeed be honored to lead the Mark to your side in Gondor, my Lord."   
  
'So would I,' was her only thought at her place by the table that, though but a few feet away, felt as an island so small and insignificant it remained unmarked by the passing ships. An island that grew colder day by day, and remaining there became a task of great will.   
  
The family watched the soldier depart to the North the next morning. Grima strode up beside her from behind. "Don't I wish we had better accommodations to offer such a noble rider, of such high stature! A mighty captain in his land, I'm told. And there he goes, off to the hidden land of Imladris. Oh, majestic Elves and glorious Gondor! What he must think of our humble city - but a rural farm village filled with dim peasants it must seem to the White City!"   
  
His mention of Gondor caught her attention. She now had little respect for the counselor; the mere thought of him could almost make her wretch. But she couldn't resist. "The White City?" she replied, as disinterested as she could say it.   
  
"I know little more than you do," he replied. But he commenced to fill her thoughts with pictures of wise kings in the magnificent cities of their grand kingdoms, gallant captains and soldiers in all their ambition and nobility. And the queens! The daughters of the Great Kingdoms could take the throne should they be the only or eldest child, and command the armies and order the kingdom as they saw fit. She felt herself overcome by daydreams of such a life, and without realizing it, flushed with disappointment and embarrassment over her rustic version of a palace, and many of the unsophisticated thick-skins in it. A strong desire to follow the highborn warrior to the mysterious abode of the legendary Elves came over her. There she might be among wise and revered company, and be as one of them, far above the job of servant she held here.   
  
But the traveler disappeared over the horizon, and they never saw him again. Soon thereafter came the renowned wizard, and with him came the turn toward the darkest times. Her uncle the king fell even deeper into his grievous spell of weakness and distrust. Grima was now despised and blamed by all save himself and the king for the turn of affairs. Every move of the king's, every decision, seemed possibly the most unwise he could make; not least of all his great faith in his counselor Grima. All in the kingdom dreaded what this could lead to, and carried out his many nonsensical orders in confusion and worry. Despite her own growing unhappiness she still had unconditional love and loyalty for her king, and worried dearly for him. But of her deeper fears and desires she could say nothing, though the less she spoke the more they consumed her. To her brother she would only discuss the failing health of their dear uncle who had been as a caring father to them for so long.   
  
Eomer her brother then rode out against orders to the aid of Prince Theodred. She felt her soul was burning with a mixture envy, frustration and sadness. She could not also ride to the rescue of their dear cousin, nor from her place could she even attempt to make any dent in the king's condition with words of concern over his folly. No, she could only be as a nurse, unheeded and unnoticed, silently tending to his ever-weakening spirit.   
  
Then came the final turn of events, which, despite its turn toward the dreaded battle at the end, was a turn for the better. The wizard returned, thank the gods; for he healed the king and at last rid Rohan of its miserable saboteur Grima Wormtongue. He brought also her hope; the answer of her dreams. Aragorn, esteemed by all who knew of his heritage as far above the rulers of the lesser realms left upon the earth. He was valiant and noble as the son of Gondor they had hosted months before, yet at all the more wise and majestic, and glowing of a royal lineage that was far more ancient. She was humbled beyond words by his presence, and the sight of him stirred again in her all the pictures of the perfect life that lay dormant in her dreams. Her mind and heart were now bent to him. She could be his queen, she thought. And together they would rule, organizing the earth toward peace and happiness, taking their place among the renowned kings and queens of ancient times. Here was a most worthy man that she could spend a perfect life loving.   
  
But, no. He moved on and left her behind just as quickly as he came. He had nothing but pity for her, like a father off to battle trying to leave his begging child. Though with tenderness he tried to reject the love she offered him, he still made her feel even lower than ever before. As the dogs that roll through the mud she felt. The dogs that are commanded to remain at home and wait for their master to return from his great and glamorous duties. And there she was, still in Rohan; there doomed to remain. Even though her status was as a princess, a Lady of the Royal House, in this backward little kingdom such status sentenced her entire life to confinement in Edoras, and to wait silently upon the men who ruled it.   
  
Despair gripped her. Hard as she might try to swallow her misery and carry out the hand she'd been dealt, she couldn't bring herself to fathom it. The king of Rohan was healed and off to war with her brother, and Lord Aragorn was gone without a glance back. She was alone, and trapped in the nightmare that was, unbeknownst to her at the time, painted by Grima. It was as the walls were caving in on a flooding room in which she was trapped, and in which there was now only one way out. She heard the summons of the army to war, and came to it, ready to fight to the death. At least, she thought, she could taste a soldier's glory for but a day, and die proving to them all what she was worth.   
  
Had she faced the Black Captain as a soldier fighting for life or duty, she might have been as afraid as the others who fled from him. But as it is said that one accepting of his death loses his fear; such was her state. Here was her chance, to make her mark, and perish, for the good peoples of the world.   
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
But here she was, trapped again. Though far from the fields of Rohan, she wondered what might now become of her fate. Even as the Steward first spoke to her, she felt her heart move in a way she had not expected. She could almost feel straight away the weight of her sadness lessen slightly, and ere long it occurred to her that all this time she like her fallen uncle may also have been under a spell. The mere keenness of his gentle glance despite her pride had already set her despair to melt, and she pondered all her actions over the past days anew, as if she had only now become aware of them.   
  
Still, after all she'd been through with Grima and then Aragorn, she was yet in no mood for his advances. Not that they were imposing or uncomfortable, but she yet mourned for her uncle, and pondered her doubt and confusion. But each day as her thoughts lay in realms unseen her feet took her out to the court, where she would find herself looking or waiting for him, each day more warmed by his words and his company.   
  
Finally he somehow guessed in his perceptive fashion the riddle she had secretly asked herself: why did she love Aragorn so? Aragorn whom she knew so little? As easily did he guess the answer: that he might take her far above the foul things that crawl upon the earth. Was it truly only love she sought from the lost King? Perhaps it was pity she could indeed accept, but would not for fear of humbling her pride.   
  
At the end of the War the invitation came from her brother to join the celebration at the field of Cormallen. Now she would be recognized in glory of arms as a fellow warrior, and acknowledged by her family at last. But, she now had no desire to go. For here by her side was the one who healed her. Someone who required no proofs nor cry nor great deeds to value her thoughts and presence. Here was someone who loved her without question, and made her feel more important than even the wizard Gandalf was held to be by the entire world. By his side, she would live better than a Queen of all Middle-Earth. Here, she was happy. Seeing no longer a cage around her but a great tree, of love and freedom, for which to fly to and from at will, she made her choice, and with Faramir she stayed.   
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
